


Language Barrier

by Reinamy



Series: Rivamika Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinamy/pseuds/Reinamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I’m sorry, I don’t understand English,”</i> Mikasa says in her native tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt "81– Language," over at [Rivamika-Drabbles](http://rivamika-drabbles.tumblr.com/post/148019839356/rivamika-drabble-one-word-prompts). 
> 
> This oneshot is proof of my inability to adhere to any word count goal.

 

“That guy’s been staring at you since he got here,” her brother mutters, eyes cast sideways.

Mikasa doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to.

“Just ignore him, Eren,” she says, taking a pointed sip of her coffee.

Perhaps Eren will be more successful at it than she’s been.

They continue their conversation, and it’s interesting enough that Mikasa _almost_ manages to disregard  the stare she can feel boring into the right side of her face, as warm as the sunlight that’s streaming through the western window of the café.   

Eventually Eren excuses himself to use the restroom, and she’s not at all surprised when the owner of said stare uses the opportunity to approach.  

“Hi,” he says, stopping just short of her table.

Mikasa tilts her head upwards and forces her expression into what she hopes conveys polite regret.  

 _“I’m sorry, I don’t understand English,_ ” she says in her native tongue.

She expects the man to stammer an apology and walk away.

Instead, his mouth quivers at the corners as if he’s suppressing a smile.

 _“How fortunate that I speak your language then,”_ he returns in fluent Japanese.   _“The name’s Levi. Mind telling me yours?”_

His face is impassive, but his eyes are _definitely_ laughing at her. She forces her own expression tombstone-smooth and says flatly, in English, “No.”

There’s another telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Nice to meet you, _No_ ,” he says, the transition from Japanese to English as fluid as hers has been. “Mind if I sit?”

“I do.”

“ _Perhaps we should stick to Japanese, since you seem to be more eloquent in it.”_

 _“Or you could just go away,”_ Mikasa suggests.

“See? I was right.”

Despite herself, Mikasa feels her lips pull up in a tiny, reluctant smile. She quickly conceals it behind her mug, taking a deliberately long swig and using the opportunity to study the man—Levi—under her lashes.

He’s small. Shorter than she is by nearly half a head, but the self-assured way in which he carries himself—spine straight, shoulders loose, hands tucked casually in his pockets—gives him the impression of being taller. _Confident in his skin_ , she thinks as she continues her study. Fit, too, given the subtle outline of muscle beneath the dark—and noticeably expensive—dress shirt he’s wearing.  

Mikasa raises her gaze to his face and has to concede that he’s not lacking in that department, either. The man is handsome. A bit too pale, perhaps, but the contrast between his skin, nearly as white as the cup she’s holding, and his dark hair is striking. Her eyes linger briefly on the delicate curve of his jaw and his thin, shapely mouth, before rising to meet eyes that shine silver when reflecting sunlight.

“Like what you see?” he asks, and there’s not a hint of smugness in his tone, only genuine curiosity.

“I’ve seen worse,” Mikasa says, instead of the _yes_ that immediately springs to mind.

Another aborted grin. “Charming.”

Her smile is all teeth. “And I don’t even try.”

She doesn’t notice Eren’s approach until she calls her name, and she jerks, coffee nearly spilling before she sets the cup on the table. She tears her eyes away from Levi’s and looks at Eren, who’s glowering at him, arms crossed and torso angled forward, threatening. 

“This guy bothering you, Mikasa?”

Levi doesn’t so much as twitch despite the incredibly intimidating picture her brother makes, and she can’t help but afford him points for that.

“No,” Mikasa says thoughtfully, reaching out to touch Eren’s arm, a silent conveyance that she can handle this on her own. “Levi was just about  to give me his number, then leave.”

She turns to him, meeting his raised brow with one of her own, and feels a coil of something that can almost be considered anticipation unfurl in her belly when he loses the long-standing battle with himself and chuckles—a low, gravelly sound that shoots straight from her ears down her spine.

To Mikasa’s surprise, he asks a passing waiter for a pen then turns to her, eyes gleaming with something Mikasa realizes too-late foretells trouble. Too quickly to stop him he seizes her wrist—firmly, but not enough to hurt—and extends her arm. He smirks, with his eyes as much as his mouth, then bends over the table to scribble a series of numbers into her bare skin. It tickles, but she doesn’t pull away.

“What the hell are you—” Eren starts, stepping forward, but Levi ignores him, eyes lifting from her inked skin to her narrowed eyes and remaining there as he caps the pen and hands it back to the befuddled waiter.

 _“Don’t keep me waiting too long,_  Mikasa, _”_ he says, brushing his thumb over her fluttering pulse point before releasing her wrist and stepping back.

Mikasa wills herself not to give any of the emotions building inside of her away.  

 _“I definitely won't be calling you,”_ she shoots back. Her skin tingles where the ink now sits and she unconsciously goes to rub it, stopping just short of touching when she realizes she’ll smear the numbers into indecipherable shapes and lose it forever.  

 _“You will,_ ” he says—no, _promises—_ and gives her a final, lingering look before walking away.

He doesn’t look back. Mikasa knows this because her eyes follow his trek across the café, then out of the door and into the warm, late-summer afternoon. The chiming of the bells that hang over the doorway is what pulls her from her reverie, and she blinks, startled, when she notices that Eren is now sitting across from her, chin in his hand and fingers drumming against the table, looking wholly unimpressed.

 _“Just ignore him, Eren,”_ he mimics.

Mikasa chucks her half-eaten strawberry at him, then ducks her head to hide a sheepish smile.   

After a moment she reaches into her pocket for her phone, intent to take a picture of her arm in case her insanity progresses any further and she decides she actually _wants_ to call him.

It isn’t likely, but… 

Just in case.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comments are appreciated, as always! ♥


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